by J M D Reid
Ōbhin drew the sword without thought and swung at Ust.
Chapter Fifteen
The woman’s gasp halted Ōbhin’s blade a finger’s width from Ust’s chest. The bandit leader cursed and stumbled back into the building’s stone wall. A cold shiver raced through Ōbhin as he stared at the sword. It trembled in his hand, sunlight glinting on the edge.
“Come along,” a man said, rushing away from the woman who’d screamed. “City watch shouldn’t let dirt-stained Tethyrians wander around this neighborhood.”
Ust whistled as he gathered himself. “Yeah, can’t just cut me down here, huh? Witnesses.”
Ōbhin swallowed. It shocked him how easy the sword draw had come. No thought, just reaction. A flare of twisting fear turning into hot rage. He shoved the blade back into his scabbard with a steely slither. His leather glove creaked as he released the handle.
“Maybe we can meet atop the blackberry hill,” Ōbhin said, shame spurring on a strange bravado. He shouldn’t have tried to kill Ust. Taking a life, even one as soiled and pathetic as Ust’s, wasn’t a harmonious act.
Taim’s shocked expression resonated through Ōbhin’s mind.
“We can continue this conversation without witnesses around.” Ōbhin clutched to the bluster. The shame twisted through him mixed with the fear that propelled it. He owed it to Dualayn to protect his people. He’d made the decision to pick up that burden.
Ust snorted. “I’m not such a prideful man to think I can beat you fairly.”
“Move on from Kash.” Ōbhin took a step closer. “I doubt there are any witnesses when you’re staggering home from the Sword Arm Tavern.”
Ust leaned in. “Try not to look so pale when threatening death. You look on the verge of pissing your pants.”
“You’re the one who almost tripped himself to escape,” Ōbhin replied. “Leave Kash. Don’t you have honest men to rob?”
“Can’t.” Ust touched the blue armband around his arm. “Have to show my support for the king. Boss is a patriot. I’ll tell you what, I’ll even keep an eye out for Carstin’s body. Imagine the things that could be done with it.”
The words spilled ice down Ōbhin’s spine, the words so close to that dark bastard’s threat in the barn. Dje’awsa, with his obsidian rod and those hounds that reeked of death, filled Ōbhin’s thoughts. Jackals . . . Ust dug up Carstin’s body for that Black-blooded bastard.
“Do you really think you can protect them?” asked Ust.
“The Boss wants Dualayn protected,” growled Ōbhin.
Ust arched eyebrows. “I didn’t say that. I asked if you can protect them. You did great with Carstin.”
“Leave Kash,” Ōbhin growled.
“Why?” Ust asked, pushing away from the wall. “You showed me who you are. A coward.”
“You think I’m a coward?”
“Oh, you can fight. You can kill. I don’t doubt that, but when it’s really important, when things truly matter, you flee. You lack conviction. You flow where the river takes you instead of standing up against the flood.”
“Because I didn’t kill you right now?”
“Partly.” Ust spat to the side, splattering brown on the pavement. “You ran from your home after you killed that prince. Then you ran from that masked slattern. Once my business is done, I think I’ll look her up. For a few coins, a handful of glimmers, I can see if she’s worth it.”
Ōbhin’s hand drifted to his sword hilt.
Ust laughed and strode off. “Be seeing you, Ōbhin.”
*
“Come visit soon,” Deffona said, embracing Avena tight.
“I’ll try,” said Avena. The pair traded kisses on the cheek, tokens of friendship. “I promise.”
“And show me some of this fighting Ōbhin’s teaching you,” Deffona said as she broke away. “Maybe I can drub the eldest daughter over the head.”
“The rod would just break on her skull.”
Deffona sighed. “It would. Then she would calmly berate me for my inability to crack her head open before sending me to mop the surgery room.”
“It’ll get better,” Avena said, her hands taking Deffona’s and squeezing. “She’s just . . .”
“Battering me. I just . . . I wish I knew what I was doing wrong.”
“You’re doing nothing wrong.”
Deffona’s face twisted in frustration. “I have to return to my duties. Her unbreakable skull will be coming soon to yell at me. I have tasks to complete.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” A fierceness flashed over Deffona’s face. “I’d endure a thousand of her tongue lashes to speak with you.”
A warmth suffused Avena’s heart. Would Evane and I have had a relationship like this?
“Mmm, there he is,” Deffona said. “He is handsome. Lucky you.”
“Maybe it’s the ardor brimming in your heart that has the eldest berating you,” Avena said, turning to smile at Miguil as he stroked the nose of the carriage horse. “He is handsome. I can’t wait for us to marry.”
“No, no, Ōbhin,” said Deffona. “The man marches with purpose.”
Avena noted the Qothian marching into the yard. He’d been across the street. What was he doing outside the loading yard? He’s supposed to be protecting us, not going for a stroll! Was he meeting with a spy?
“No wonder you are so eager for training,” Deffona said.
“You need to keep your thoughts out of the privy,” Avena admonished. “The man is untrustworthy.”
“A bandit turned good! Your beauty must have inspired him onto the right trail.”
“The eldest needs to do a better job in finding those romance books you smuggle in. It was his friend dying that shook him out of the darkness and into Elohm’s light.” Not that he believes in Elohm, but the Creator of All believes in him. “He’s dangerous and knows the head of the Brotherhood.”
“Yes,” gushed Deffona. “Maybe he’ll duel Miguil for your love.”
“You are hopeless.” Avena sighed and broke away. “Elohm’s Colours brighten your life until we next meet.”
“And keep your soul polished,” Deffona added. “Enjoy your practices. At least write me.”
Avena nodded then marched up to Ōbhin. He reached the carriage. When his dark eyes met hers, he looked away immediately. She could read the guilt all over him. She wouldn’t let the Brotherhood harm Dualayn. He did so much good for the city, so it was a shame such low and disgusting people used him.
“Why did you leave the yard?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”
“Thought I saw something,” he said as he climbed up into the carriage seat.
The low rumble of thunder echoed in the background as Avena narrowed her eyes. “Like something on the blackberry hill? People watching us?”
“Maybe.” He leaned back, his eyes distant.
“Come along, child,” Dualayn called from the carriage. “Let’s not dawdle.”
The rumble of thunder returned, pausing her climb into the carriage. She stood on the step and looked up at the mostly blue skies, a few fluffy, light-gray clouds hanging above. “Strange.”
The rumble came again, only it wasn’t quite the growl of thunder. It was almost like shouts. Her head turned towards the hospital. She could see the Rainbow Belfry peeking just over the hospital’s flat. The sound seemed to growl from that direction.
“Is that . . . from the square?” she asked.
“Remember what I said,” Ōbhin said.
“Back way,” agreed Miguil.
“Back way?” Avena muttered before she finished climbing into the carriage and closed the door firmly. “We have sick people needing tending.”
She sat down on the horse-hair stuffed seat, her back straight. She became aware of the binder strapped to her calf hidden by her skirt and petticoats. A cold weight settled in her stomach as the carriage trotted forward. The clatter of the wagon, with the three sick, rattled behind them.
“Should they be shouting s
o loud?” she asked, leaning forward and staring out the window. The carriage went right instead of left to return to the main thoroughfare.
“Hmm?” Dualayn asked, looking up from a journal bound in brown leather he wrote in. “Sorry, child.”
“The shouting from the square, Father,” she said, staring at the passing buildings. There was hardly anyone in the streets. The few she spotted were moving fast. One man undid a blue cloth from his arm and furtively threw it to the street.
A rotting nervousness grew in her, attracting new fears like blowflies to spoiled meat.
“Surely the high refractor would calm down the mob,” Avena said.
“Yes, I’m sure he would,” Dualayn said. “I am trying to jot down my thoughts, child. Those three patients are interesting. I have ideas about their treatment. I want to finalize them before we reach the house.”
She nodded as the carriage took the turn to the right, heading west. She watched the buildings passing by, a tight row of shops with tenements built above them. Many of the doors had their purple drapes closed, announcing they were closed.
To the north, a curl of smoke rose.
“Is that a fire?” she asked, her braid swaying down the side of the carriage.
Ōbhin glanced back at her from where he rode. He held his sword, still scabbarded, across his lap. “It is. There are several.”
“Several?” she gasped. “Why?”
“I do not think the high refractor’s words were well received.”
“But . . . he’s the high refractor. Elohm’s Colours shine through the prism of his soul. He interprets it with such clarity.”
The roar grew louder as they approached an intersection. In its center lay a fountain of three maidens bathing, their clothing clinging to their bodies and water pouring from jugs they carried into the cistern for the neighborhood to drink. A man ran past it, fleeing south. He threw a look behind him. Three more men appeared, running fast, wearing white armbands across their upper arms. One held a cudgel.
“Ōbhin?” she asked, her chest tightening.
“I saw them. I hope none of us are wearing blue.”
“They’re rioting against the king?” she gasped as another man spilled around the corner and ran towards them, his face flushed. He panted and leaned against a painted stone wall. As the carriage neared him, she called out, “Goodman, what is going on?”
“They killed him,” he answered, his pale face flushed red. Sweat poured down from his unkempt hair. He wore dirty leather pants and a stained shirt. A bit of blue cloth poked out of his coat pocket.
“Who?” she asked.
“The guards. They . . . they put an arrow in him. Right in the middle of his speech.”
“Who!” she hissed, the fear squeezing around her heart. “Did they kill a demonstrator?”
“The high refractor.” A look of wild panic crossed the man’s face. “He fell from his balcony. He landed in the square and . . . and . . .”
A loud roar echoed from the intersection.
“Buggering darkness,” the man gasped and bolted down the street.
Avena sank down into her seat. She stared across at Dualayn. “The king killed the high refractor?”
“Hmm?” he asked, peering up from his notes. “Elohm’s Colours, you’re white as snow, child.”
“They killed the high refractor,” she whispered. “Why would they do that?”
Dualayn lowered his quill. He swallowed, color draining from his face. “I . . . see.”
“Turn left past this street,” Ōbhin growled as they crossed the intersection. “I want us heading as far from this madness as possible.”
“Yeah,” Miguil said, his voice tight.
Out the carriage window to the right, she could see a wild mob boiling down the street. They were two blocks away, smashing the front of shops, tearing down signs. A group broke in and into a chandler’s shop. Avena clapped a hand over her face, spotting three men who were kicking a fourth lying on the ground.
“Where is the guard?” she whispered. “Why are they allowing this?”
“They caused this,” spat Ōbhin. “Faster, Miguil. The horses can take it.”
Miguil cracked the reins. The carriage sped up, wheels clattering. She clutched her hands tight as she peered ahead, the wind of their passage rippling around her head. Another street crossing lay ahead, a narrower one. She chewed on her inner cheek. Would Deffona be fine? Would they break into the hospital like the chandler’s shop? The fury thundered behind them.
And before them.
A mob of men burst into the street ahead, flowing like a muddy torrent of a flooding river. Miguil pulled sharp on the reigns, the horses neighing and snorting as the carriage clattered to a stop. The fury of the mob washed over them. The Black had seized their souls.
Surely they won’t attack us, flashed through her mind. We aren’t the guard. We didn’t kill the high refractor.
“Smiles!” Ōbhin shouted as he leaped down from the carriage, his tulwar flashing out of its scabbard. The emerald in the pommel flared to life, green light spilling over his hip and thigh, highlighting the creases in his black glove.
Smiles rushed down the side of the carriage from the wagon, his binder out, amethyst glowing. He stepped up beside Ōbhin. The mob surged at them. Twenty or thirty men poured down the street to sweep them aside.
The two men stood brave before it. They were defending Dualayn and the sick.
Acting was easier than cowering. She didn’t have to think as she hiked her skirt and plucked her binder from its hidden sheath. Dualayn shouted behind her, his words swallowed by the pounding heat in her ears. She leaped out of the carriage and landed on the street, heavy skirts and petticoats swirling.
She activated her binder and rushed forward.
*
The mob charged.
Men, mostly young and angry, surged down the street, brandishing cudgels made of broken chair legs or barrel staves. They rushed at Ōbhin. His blade hummed. These men had every reason to be furious, to be snarling avalanches of rage, but they were venting it in the wrong place. Smashing buildings and beating king’s men wouldn’t redress the crime. If the guard had killed the high refractor, they should be storming the Palace of Light perched on the Ivorystone Cliffs, a bluff north of the city.
Not rushing to harm Ōbhin’s charges.
Lead weighed down his boots. There were so many of them. He’d have to kill. Realization pierced Ōbhin’s heart with black pain. He’d murdered coldly before his reawakening, but now . . . He wanted to run from the butchery about to descend on the mob, but Dualayn, Avena, and Miguil were behind him. Smiles stood beside him, ready to—
Avena burst into view at the peripheral of his vision, clutching a binder, impractical skirts swirling about her feet.
“Niszeh’s Black Tones!” he snarled in Qothian. “Get your uncovered face back to the carriage!”
She shook her head, her expression tight. “You need all the help you can get.”
“Elohm, polish us with your Colours,” Smiles whispered, between Ōbhin and Avena.
“Now, Avena!” Ōbhin barked, the men almost on them, the pound of their footsteps hurtling closer. “You’re not—”
A cudgel flashed. Ōbhin reacted. His resonance blade sliced in the air before him, cutting through the weapon with smooth ease. Already he leaned to the right to let the severed end hurtle past his head, acting out of his training. His blade flicked downward, hissing before him. He hoped it would drive back the mob.
They didn’t retreat.
The man swung his now shortened weapon, the tail of his white armband flapping. Ōbhin swiped upward, the blade slicing through bone and flesh, severing the man’s hand, maiming him for life. He gaped. Ōbhin kicked him back into the mob.
Purple flashed on his right, a rioter falling to the ground. Ōbhin’s black-gloved hands tightened as he hacked through the next cudgel. His soul yearned for a binder. To capture instead of harm. His blade sliced
through wood and then found flesh.
Another hand joined the ground.
Anger roared from the mob. They didn’t care about those clutching severed stumps. His vibrating tulwar flashed and hacked before him, slicing through bone as easy as wood. He took a man in the leg, severing and sending it bleeding to the street. Anger burned through Ōbhin at these idiots for forcing him to harm them.
Blades flashed. Knives appeared in the hands of some. They rushed him to stab. A foot slipped on blood, tripping on the slick cobblestone. The scent of copper filled Ōbhin’s nose as he elbowed a man in his face. Avena rushed forward in the corner of his eye, swinging at a man with a rusting blade.
“Get back!” he snarled at her and flicked his blade at the attacker’s arm.
A hand flew in an arc of crimson.
*
Avena’s blood sang as she swung her binder and cracked the steel rod into the ruffian’s chest. Purple bands of energy sprang around him. He gasped as his limbs tangled around his torso. Her next swing cracked him in the knee, a hard disabler just like Ōbhin had taught her.
He fell and landed with a crash.
She smiled. Wild exultation surged through her veins. She wasn’t standing by helpless, a useless, stunned thing incapable of lifting a finger to save Evane. She fought. Life blazed through her. She threw herself into the fray. Ōbhin attracted most of the attention, his resonance sword inflicting horrific damage.
She fought at Smiles’s side, guarding Ōbhin’s flanks.
“Avena!” Miguil shouted behind her. “Get back!”
He appeared on her right, standing badly and holding a makeshift cudgel, perhaps a piece of firewood he’d stashed beneath the carriage’s driver seat. Avena grimaced as he made a clumsy, if powerful, swing at a rioter. The rioter blocked it, shouted, and attacked back. The tail of a green armband fluttered in the wake of his strike.
She performed a stop thrust, ramming rod forward like a spear and slamming the tip hard into the man’s chest. He grunted and stumbled back, the binding energy springing around his body, but not before his club cracked onto Miguil’s shoulder. Cursing, Miguil’s cudgel slammed into the ruffian’s head, knocking him into two of his scruffy fellows.
